


Cheetahs and Pancakes

by hooksandheroics



Series: sweet tooth [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Babyfic!, Early Mornings, F/M, Fluff, Pancakes, Zoo trip, and drowsy!clarke, fluff of course, mischievous boys and papa bears, ugh this thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They did go to the zoo, and after, like, the fifth zoo trip, she's finally realized that the reason cheetahs aren't there is because they're too fast to catch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheetahs and Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the support, you guys. This will not be possible if it weren't for the encouragement your comments and kudos and bookmarks gave me. :)

_Well, that was fun,_ Clarke thinks as she stares out of the window of Bellamy’s pickup, only half-listening to the chattering of the little child in the backseat. She catches a little bit of his stuttering monologue about the cheetah ( _“That’s a tiger, son, they really don’t have cheetahs in there.”_ ), and the bear, and the monkeys, all the while thinking this is, what, the fifth zoo trip she’s had in a row now and she still feels like she’s never had that much fun with a dad and a seven-year old boy before.

It also does help that she’s incredibly attracted to said dad. And that said dad has taken it a habit of his to send her these warm, soft smiles, even when he thinks she’s not looking – and really, the clincher is the way his little boy would grin up at her as if he knows something she doesn’t. She’s helpless, and she knows it, probably the only thing she knows right now. Aside from the fact that she’s disgustingly tired from all the walking, and the dragging, and the occasional pushing of the swing.

(It’s a good thing, probably, that she doesn’t have a shift tomorrow, she would probably still be tired then.)

“You have a point,” says Auggie, and Clarke can see from the rearview mirror the way he’s pouting in thought. It takes everything in her to reel in a giggle. “They can’t catch a cheetah. It’s too fast, right, nurse Clarke?”

She raises her brows and smiles at him through the mirror, then nods. “Yup, you’re probably right. They’re too fast, we humans can’t keep up.”

Bellamy spares her a big smile and a shake of his head, probably amused at her humoring his son, but it’s fun so she does it anyway. She shows it with a shrug directed at him, and she is rewarded with a warm bark of laughter.

“You know what, _‘tay_ , I wanna be an animal doctor,” Auggie declares, his tone carrying a finality to it that’s hard to miss. “And then we’ll get a puppy.”

Bellamy chuckles once again. “Okay, but when I get you a puppy, _you_ will take care of it. Count me out of it,” he replies, and the excitement from the kid is so palpable anyone can see him vibrating with it.

“ _Tatay_ will get me a puppy!” he exclaims, jumping from his seat as they enter their neighborhood.

“I said ‘if’,” Bellamy interjects in his defense.

“You said ‘when’,” the boy counters. And then he turns to Clarke, pleading eyes in full effect. “Tell him he said ‘when’, nurse Clarke. You know he did!”

Clarke raises her hands in surrender, shaking her head at both of them when she sees that Bellamy is wearing the same expression. She decides it’s best to stay out of this bloody battle if she wants to escape unscathed. “Nope, not gonna say anything. You boys fight it out yourselves.”

They carry on like that for the rest of the drive, and quite frankly, Clarke does not know when they had stopped, or when she had fallen asleep. The last thing she remembers, though, is a kind smile and strong arms under her knees. Other than that, calm darkness.

* * *

 

“She’s put out like a fire,” a deep voice says, a small chuckle in his quiet voice. There’s shuffling and then silence.

“Now, can I call her ‘mommy’?” a small voice pipes in.

“Auggie!”

“I was just asking.”

A beat, and then: “You wouldn’t even let me call her _‘nanay’_.”

* * *

 

She wakes to a deep bellowing from outside the room, voice so deep as if it came from under the earth, and Clarke could not help but tense up, reaching for the blanket around her shoulders and burrowing herself in.

Then she tenses up even more when she notices the pressure around her torso. She throws the blanket away from her body, finds none other than Auggie underneath, his arms wrapped around her stomach like a vice. It is then that she recognizes the word (it’s a name) being shouted from somewhere in the house – and whose house she’s in – and whose bed she’s on. _What the f –_

“Don’t tell _tatay_ ,” he whispers to her, smirk so similar to his father that she blinks a couple of times before she registers what he’s doing.

He’s hiding, and he’s giving Bellamy a hard time.

_“Augustus Charles Blake!”_

The second she opens her mouth to tell him how conniving he is, the door to the room opens with a loud bang. She turns towards the sound, surprise written clearly on her face, while Auggie burrows deeper into the blanket she has abandoned. She meets him with wide eyes, and he narrows his. She, of course, catalogues first the way his hair flops down on his forehead almost past his eyebrows, or how his wrinkled white shirt and his five o’clock shadow are evidences that he had just gotten out of bed. And that he still looks as gorgeous as the first time she’s seen him. _Priorities, of course_.

Clarke subtly motions towards the little bundle of white next to her with her head, and she watches as his reaction turns from exasperated to mischievous (they are so alike, it’s freaky sometimes), watches as he stalks over to the other side of the bed, and launches himself so that half of his body is rested on the squirming little cocoon. A loud giggle erupts from under the sheets, and a curly mop of hair peeks through, eyes big and wide and bright, but also pleading as it turns its gaze to Clarke.

She shakes her head, couldn’t help the laugh escaping her, when she scoots away from the gruesome wrestling of David and Goliath. It ends with her at the edge of the bed, and with Bellamy pinned under the lightweight that is his son, feigning defeat, but appearing just as truly breathless as the rest of them.

“Okay, I concede!” he declares just as Auggie bends down and assaults him with kisses on his face. “Okay! Now breakfast, young warrior.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “Breakfast?”

Auggie pipes in, “Yes, breakfast!” as he jumps down from the bed and sprints outside and into the kitchen.

“How long was I out?” she asks quietly, scrubbing her face tiredly with her hand. Bellamy props himself up on the headboard and grins at her. It is then that she notices that the dark grey sweater and knee-high boots were foregone to just the white tank top she had underneath and the leggings

“All afternoon and all night long,” he answers. “You slept through the Scrabble game.”

She chuckles and shoots him a mocking sad expression. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah well,” he shrugs, “everybody lets the little rascal win all the time anyway, my friends are suckers for him.”

“Can’t blame them,” she says, plopping back down on the mattress, her eyes lingering on the empty nightstand. “Your son’s adorable.”

“That’s gotta come from somewhere,” he replies, and the cockiness is so evident she whirls her head just to send him a perfect glare. They stare at each other like that for a minute, and then his eyes grow darker as he crawls (slithers, more like, because he looks so damn predatory she has to fight a shudder) over to her, trapping her under the weight of his thighs around her torso.

“Bellamy,” she whispers, breathlessly. She comes to the conclusion just now that she hates how much he affects her, but also that she doesn’t really hate him. “We can’t…”

“Yes, we can,” he says, bending and placing an open-mouthed kiss on the side of her neck, making her squirm against him. Her hands clutch at his biceps, fingernails (although blunt) digging into his skin, a clear contradictory statement to her previous one, and his soft laughter is warm against her skin that she really could not help the heat bolting down her spine at the sound.

They have done this before, countless times, but when he makes her favorite sounds, she’s molten in seconds. His laugh – it’s just one of them, but her most favorite is his low groan when she cants her hips up and presses into him… _just like this_.

He drops his forehead to her collarbone, breath harsh and ragged against her heated skin – and she feels a spark of pride in her chest knowing that the feelings aren’t one-sided.

“Clarke,” he breathes, slowly letting himself down and letting her bear some of his weight, and she welcomes it, burying her hands under his thin white shirt.

She leans forward and catches his lips with hers, swallowing the stuttered breath he releases, and kisses him languidly. She lets one hand drag the back of his shirt up, lets her nails drag up his back, just to hear another one of her favorite sounds: the hiss he makes when she’s got him wrapped around her finger.

“You’re a minx, you know that?” he croaks out, rough and low – almost missing the fairly loud _crash_ from the kitchen.

It takes a second for them to buffer, but they’re quick to spring apart and sprint to the direction of the kitchen, their bare feet padding carelessly on the cold floor to see – _of freaking course_.

There he is – Auggie – perched on a stool, a big goofy grin on his lips while holding up a lot of silverware in his hand and dropping them on the floor on purpose. That was where the noise was coming from and – okay, she’s lost.

“Auggie, what are you doing?” Bellamy asks, exasperation seeping through words as he puts his hands on his hips.

The boy jumps from the stool and immediately picks up all of the spoons from the floor, depositing them to the sink.

“The pancakes are getting cold,” he grins cheekily, and – _oh_. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Someone needs to tell this kid that he already has. By the look on Bellamy’s face, someone’s about to.

* * *

 

That’s how her morning went.

A hungry papa bear and his equally hungry cub devouring an unhealthy amount of pancakes, and bacons – fighting each other for the last one on the plate. A little ball of curls jumping onto her lap and devouring _her_ pancakes as she laughed, earning her an assault of sticky, syrup-y kisses all over her face.

Dishwashing soap on her top, and on Bellamy’s hair when he decided to snake his arms around her waist from behind and plant a kiss to her neck to distract her while washing the dishes and she retaliated with carding her wet fingers through his hair. He didn’t seem to care. Neither did she, when she turned her head to kiss him fully on the lips.

He tasted like pancakes and coffee and the morning she always wants to wake up to.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment! Or a prompt set in this universe to my tumblr [here](http://hooksandheroics.tumblr.com). PS., _nanay_ is mom in Tagalog. :)


End file.
